Phaeton
by sakana3
Summary: A little lie goes a long way. He was the liar, never suspected their prisoner of attempting anything of the like.
1. Chapter 1

PHAETON

Summary: A little lie can go a long way. Ichimaru was the liar, he never expected their prisoner to try anything of the sort.

CHAPTER ONE

He was far too close, she decided, far too close for comfort.

She could smell the blood on him, faint, but present, the taint of iron and salt that had terrified her in her childhood, in her life, but seemed so fitting, so alluring when coupled with his malicious smile. She could imagine him, imagine him standing above littered corpses, flowing a sea of red, and he himself soaked with the evidence of his victories, proclaiming to the eternal sky his mirthless laughter that was so void of humor, yet full of it, the dark humor that neither she nor anyone other than he could possible understand, that she suspected he too did not fully comprehend. She could see it, could see him and it shook her, shook her that she, for a moment, did not notice that he was far too close for comfort.

"Ichimaru-san…" she stammered, not sure how to phrase her discomfort, avoiding the gaze that regarded her like a curiosity.

"Ya know m'name," he stated in his drawling accent. "Impressive. Ev'n most o' Soul Society didn' know m'name, well, b'fore this whole mess, that'is."

She mumbled something about being surprised, how someone like him could possibly be unknown and he laughed, easily, not at all like the laugh she envisioned in the massacre of her imagining and it occurred to her that he was trying to be amiable.

"They knew'm," he said, his gaze still fixated on her. "But didn' know m'name, ya see? Funny that. They knew'm and they knew Ichimaru Gin to be some kid genius." He laughed, again the easy laugh. "Caught a couple o' 'cademy students saying how they wante' t'be jus' like Ichimaru Gin an' graduate in a year. Ha ha. An' when I offered to enlist them in my company…" He broke off, laughing amiably, and it struck her that it was not an unpleasant laugh, that he did not seem so unpleasant now, alone and away from Aizen Sosuke, who seemed to corrupt the tone and grin of the man before her. He said his own name funny, she thought, not at all like the way one would say their name, not offhand, or awkwardly, or even fluidly, but he spoke it as one would say "table" or "light", a thing, a thing and merely a thing.

"How old ar'ya?" he asked conversationally.

She stammered her age.

"Ya'r sorta like Helen, aren't ya?"

"Helen?" She had expected him to say something of how pretty she was, had earnestly did, wasn't that how the story goes, wasn't that how?

"Helen o' Troy," he wasn't looking at her any more, but was gazing off, pensively, the distance between her trembling body and his unnaturally still, not even displaying the telltale signs of breathing, having widened considerably. Still too close. "Helen o' Troy whose face launched a thousan' ships. Kinda like that, eh? Ya'ar boyfrien', what'sisface, Ryoka-san, he thinks ya'ar a prisoner, doesn'te?"

"I am a prisoner, Ichimaru-san."

He laughed and the harshness of it, so different from the amiable one, shocked her. "Ya'ar not a prisoner, Orihime-san, Ryoka number two, ya can leave anytime ya want."

"Really?" her heart thudded against her ribcage, was this a trick? A joke? Or was it, can it, did she dare hope it to…

"Sure! I won' do a thing t'stop ya. Really."

She stood up abruptly and half ran half stumbled to the door, her hand grasped around the doorknob, desperately trying to pull it open. It was locked. And he was laughing, again the harsher, crueler, mocking laugh that made her cringe inside.

"You lied, Ichimaru-san."

"I did no such thing, Ryoka number two, I did no such thing. Ya can leave, but not ou' t'door."

"I don't see how else."

"Isn' death t'escape to'everythin'?"

A weight in her throat threatened to force its way out, and she thought, knew, she would cry if it ever did, the desperation of her situation weighing fully down on her, that she was helpless, helpless and vulnerable, completely so. This must be what Rukia saw in him, she decided, this cruel, mocking tyrant, whose laugh drew more blood than the screams of a thousand, the cajoling tone that had led her along. Was that what Rangiku saw? Did she only see the hurt child that desperately wanted a friend, a companion, did she see his antics as a childish prank and reciprocate in similar? And what was it that Aizen saw in the man before her, to claim him as his only fukutaicho? How strong was he, that Aizen would value strength and value his, but what of Hitsugaya-taicho, what of the rest, were they not strong as well, stronger than he or was he in some different realm? She noticed he wasn't carrying Shinso, and was he so talented that he was in a realm of his own, that he needn't bother with trivial things such as a weapon? Was strength the only thing or was it the laughing lilt of his voice, the sadistic upward curves of his grin at the prospect of giving pain and death? Aizen delighted in ruling and his second-in-command delighted in controlling life and death, life and death, he delighted in being in control, the conductor of some twisted symphony of his own concoction.

She wanted to say all that, wanted to say exactly what she thought of him, but the weight pressed against her throat again, and she knew she couldn't, couldn't say a thing of the sort, it would dislodge the weight and then it could go either way, she could finish with an angry air about her, slightly flushed, looking strong and capable, or break down crying in the middle and send him into bouts of laughter again.

So all she said was

"Ichimaru-san, what do you want?"

The weight shifted up and she rapidly blinked tears away, afraid of his answer, afraid her fear was showing and he must have sensed that.

"What d'ya think I want?"

Oh no, oh no, panic seized her and she could hear her heart pounding. If she said it, said it outright and that was what he wanted, it would seem like it was also what she wanted and if that wasn't what he wanted, she would look like such a fool and die of embarrassment. A calmer side told her that would be a fine solution, she would be liberated, free from the palace of eternal night. But what to say, what to do, what to… He was too close again.

" 'S okay, Ryoka number two," he was laughing amiably again. "I know what'ya'ar thinkin'. Does it really seem that way? Wasn' I civil enough? Ha ha. If Sosuke finds ou', he's gonna give'm hell. Or maybe it was 'cuz I was civil. Rangiku says I'm scarier when I'm civil, ha ha. Don' worry, Mrs. Ryoka, that's not what I wan'."

"Then… then…" She was truly baffled and she reflected that she may have been stereotyping him a bit, thinking him one in which lust and bloodlust chiefly ruled, merely because he followed Aizen, forgetting that he was a shinigami, and one of their elite at that, implying he must acquire at least superficial virtues.

"Ya'ar rejection powers, they reject time, th'past?"

"That's right."

"Can ya see int' th'future?"

Her mind flashed suddenly, and an idea came into her mind, could she see into the future, could she… could she… did they know? Did they… Was Ichimaru Gin afraid of death?

"Yes, I can. Please don't tell Aizen." The lie came so naturally, it shocked her, the lie, she wasn't sweating, her heart was calm, and the tone of anxiety, false anxiety, was so perfect. It didn't feel like herself in the least, not in the least, she was lying smoothly.

"Don' worry, I won'." He was rushing, excited by the news. Was she so convincing, or was he too distracted to notice, to think that she was lying. But he was stereotyping her too, the innocent child, to be used by the corrupt, incapable of using them in turn, of lying so convincingly.

"What do you want to know, Ichimaru-san?"

"Tell'm what you see after the war."

Her mind went blank and she nearly panicked, need to stall for time, need to… "I can't just tell you, Ichimaru-san, it doesn't work like that. I must draw it, that's how it works." Her mind improvised.

He nodded, accepting the answer, thinking her a pawn through which something greater works, fitting his stereotype of her. "I'll get'ya paper an' pencil."

He left and she could feel her heart now and when he returned, she knew what to draw, knew it, knew it exactly that it shocked her so, that for a moment she almost believed she could see the future. Her hand moved all across the paper, shading here, sketching there, and when she finished, she held a picture for him to see, a picture of him and Aizen, him lying on the blood-soaked ground, a katana driven into where his heart would have been and Aizen a few feet apart, his throat torn open at close proximity and the culprit lying a few feet away, the S-shaped guard visible in the drawing.

She watched him, watched his reaction and was disappointed that there was none, no reaction, or perhaps there was, but she couldn't see it.

"Interestin'."

And he left.

She was in near panic now, but strangely calm, the calm that had possessed her then, having ebbed some, but still retained. And again, she wondered, wondered, could she really have seen the future?

The title is actually not that random. For those of you that don't know, Phaeton was the son of Apollo in Greek mythology that flew too high and was struck down, then promptly died a horrible death in flames as he plunged down to the earth. Moral of that myth: avoid flying horses. Anyway, it does actually relate, but if I told you right now, it would sort of spoil the story (but think hard, the answer's quite obvious). Anyway, R&R!


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

Morning, morning under an eternal night, a strange thing at best of times, counterintuitive, true, something that he found so very foreign and familiar all at once, the moon became the sun, the dark became the light, despair gave way to new hope, yet forever stayed despair.

Blood was never very neat, it never splattered in a heroic manner, never stayed where it was supposed it, it flies, it explodes, once leaving the confines of the blood vessels, it desires to go everywhere, it never hangs in the air, poetically, for a dying man to complete his thoughts, it spills and tumbles, rolls, a veritable mountain of molten lava, what was hidden craving to be seen. Curling ink, burning, becoming ash, it swam, became liquid, soaked the flames, the ash, ink was blood and blood was ink, despicable drawing, his own face, rendered in the blood soaked ink, ink soaked blood, reflected in his heartless blue eyes.

Despicable, burning, would a problem go away, cleansing with fire, problems never go away.

He wondered.

Wondered.

_I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry._

Could she understand, understand, no one ever did, but she was different because why? Because he thought her as such? Different because he thought her different? Arrogance, arrogance, not very becoming in him.

_I'm sorry… sorry…_ (I can never love you)

Understand.

Doesn't matter, not anymore, never really did matter, now that he thought of it, did she ever need him, did he ever need her, she using him to survive, he using her to feel something… something… _human._ Ah ha ha. When did he last feel human, when did she last collapse from starvation, when did he last need her, when did she last need him? Trivial now, all childhood alliances are trivial, goodbye, goodbye.

Bigger problems than a lost love, a lack of the human feeling, bigger problems, what of Sosuke? Aizen Sosuke, Sosuke, the father figure, what of him, what of him? Did he know, did he know of her prediction, _ah, his face, rendered in ink, crumbling now_, did he put her up to it, a game? A test? Of… loyalty? Loyalty? Ha ha, he knew better than to trust, but… the strange looks lately, probing questions, wondering… _Where were you today, Gin? What were you doing today? What do you think of this? Where, what, when, why, how_. Ah, ha ha.

"Never thought you to be a pyromaniac, Gin."

Drawn to the fire, like moths to a light, ha ha, hello Sosuke-san, hello.

"Must be my innocent charm. What about you, Sosuke-san? Thought you would never tire of watching your subordinates run around in circles, bashing their heads into the walls."

"You're my subordinate."

"Nope. I'm your conscience."

"There must be some mistake. Your ethos are worse than mine."

"Yeah. I'm the part of your conscience that tells you to do bad things. Like the little demon on your shoulder in the cartoons."

"Hilarious."

Weak retort, he had won.

"What are you doing? What are you burning?"

Ah ha, ha ha, too late, Sosuke-san, too late, the fire's burned the ink and the bloody ink, inky blood has drenched the flames.

"The contract with which I sold my soul."

"Hilarious. You don't even have a soul, Gin."

Ha ha, true. True?

* * * She picked up a pen, hovered it above the sheet of paper and waited, waited for the fluttery feeling again, the one that had seized her hand, her mind and drawn the macabre picture. Waited. And nothing. She frowned. Perhaps if she fixated her thoughts on something… try… the war, yes, think of the war, think of… red? Red. Think red, think war, think metal, think hate, think tears, tears and rain and blood, washing over everything, cleansing the earth so the cycle may start anew, think red, yet… nothing.

She frowned, slumping down slightly, much like a stubborn trigonometric problem that refused to be solved, alright, maybe an event is too complicated, too large, think small, think… a person? One single component of an event, yes, a person… think… Ichigo… Ichigo… warm, reassuring, home, oh, where is he, where is he? What… think Ichigo… think… nothing.

Not him, not the war, then who? Then what?

Frustration.

Burning, eroding feeling in the abdomen, aching sensation. Frustration. Nothing and nothing and nothing after so much anxiety, so much insecurity, frustration.

What

Who

what

who

ah

Ah!

Yes, there we go, there we go, but the pen did not scratch, the pen did not slur, the pen did not flick and beneath the pen the paper was empty. Instead, in her mind, in her mind yet so vividly before her eyes, was a face, a face of impassive despair, realization, and in it, behind light green eyes, small spark of understanding, satisfaction, hope. Beneath the face, a hand reaching out, reaching out towards her, a hand, desperate for reassurance, human contact, hope, and underneath it still, a word floating in her handwriting, incomprehensible, why that word, with that face? Contradictions of each other. Cold, unfeeling soldier and so warm a word.

Ulquiorra

and

Heart.

She smiled, perhaps just mere fancy then, she thought, not fortune telling, nothing of the sort, of course not, just a little daydreaming, zoning out and daydreaming, that Aizen and Ichimaru would kill each other, that her jailer, lacking all humanity, should comprehend the meaning of the word "heart". Ha ha. Just wait a little, eh? Maybe she would see, see Ichigo swooping through the window and carrying her off onto a white horse, spiriting her away from this dead land.

Ha ha.

Just daydreaming.

Maybe… maybe…

(no, no, don't think that, no)

…maybe she would…

(no, no, come on Orihime, come on, positive, positive)

…maybe… what if… just daydreaming… so… no guarantees that Ichigo would come and what if… oh, what if the horrible arrancar…

(no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no)

…horrible arrancar, what if he were…

(no, no, no, no)

…right, what if Ulquiorra was right and Ichigo would die here and Chad and Uryu and Renji and Rukia and oh! – what if they were to die here and she, she, would remain here forever and forever until she too died, died in this room, away from the sun, away from warmth and the rest, her friends, dead below, alone, barely conscious and what if…

(no, no, no, no,

No, No, No, NO, NO, NO!

Think positive.

A half stifled sob, she crumpled the blank paper into a ball and threw it across the room, then threw herself onto the Spartan bed and cried herself to sleep, all the while, in the back of her mind, the horrible pessimist voicing the "what ifs" and the adamant optimistic screaming positive thoughts. And her last thought, before slipping into happy unconsciousness, was the merry image of Aizen and Ichimaru, both dead and soaked in blood, unmoving on the unforgiving ground, the voices of the dead singing in her ears.

Chapter two finis! Even its ennui-causing qualities, spring break is good for something, eh?

Anyway, I know it's technically impossible for Ichimaru to lack a soul, seeing as how he is a shinigami and by default, must have a soul, but interpret it in the poetic, metaphoric sense and not the technical one.

Well, R&R.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: _Been away for quite a while. Hopefully will keep updating this when my schedule allows it. Anyway, enjoy and R&R._

CHAPTER THREE

Not being able to remove the stain, 47%, increased to 67% if number 78 was on laundry duty. Being able to pin the blame on one of the arrancar, 98%, on one of the Espada, 57%, admitting privately to himself that it was his own clumsiness, 2%, admitting that his lieutenant, 0.78%.

Aizen Sosuke planned in percentages, then the outcomes after each possible outcome, so that his thoughts on any particular subject at hand resembled a grotesque family tree.

Pinning the blame on one of the arrancar, 98% obligatory to destroy indicted arrancar, pinning the blame on an Espada, 98% of appearing to punish the Espada, 45% of actual punishment, admitting to himself, 5% of drop in self esteem, admitting to his lieutenant, 99% of drop in dignity.

It was odd, he reflected, they used to be quite close, then again, most captain-lieutenant relationships were, most, but theirs was strengthened by the fact that they were co-conspirators. Really odd, in fact, when was it that he started to have to watch his back around Gin, well, more than usual anyway. It was always crucial to keep tabs on literally everyone. If his old captain had followed that piece of wisdom, he might still be fifth captain today.

(_He killed her, you know…)_

He grimaced slightly. On the better days, the snide little voice within him would restrict itself to commenting on his taste in food, clothes, whatever, but on the days where everything was presented in a faint sickish color… He sometimes envied the humans who could identify the little voices inside them as signs of insanity. In a shinigami, it was a sign of sanity.

Well, not technically, he thought to himself, his response to the prompting tone every time.

(_Ah, yes of course, technicality. Is that your argument to everything?)_

Just this one, he really didn't technically kill her…

(_Is that hesitation?_)

No

(_Denial. That's fine, Sosuke, lots of people unwittingly employ sociopaths. We can get rid of him, you and I together…)_

He was a very expensive investment. I'm not about to throw away decades of conditioning on one tiny transgression. For all you know, for all we know, he might not have even known about it…

(_Oh, yeah, I'll send her down into that deep dark potentially dangerous hole in the sky. Noooo problem)_

So what, it's not like she was anyone important to _me_. He's no threat.

(_Not to __**you**__, but… He is a sociopath, Sosuke, you understand that. What do you think protects you? Because you think he owes you? Because you've been "Sosuke-san" to him ever since he set foot into your division? Because-oh, God forbid, you think he loves you in the platonic father-son kind of way?)_

He doesn't even remember killing her, or even knowing her from then, it doesn't matter anymore.

(_It's you or him)_

Just keep your opinions to yourself and do your job

(_I am)_

And he reflected, for perhaps the first time since they had this conversation. What if… But he was fairly sure Gin was harmless. Sure, he was, most accurately, Gin-like, a description more than enough to terrify many, but altogether harmless. Honestly, how many people did he ever kill? Not as many as some of the more decorated captains. _(Because most of them killed themselves)_ He might not even be _capable _of the degree of detachment and sadism that the irritating little voice claimed was imminent. Compared to those that died during his experiments, Gin's little escapades were easy to conceal or explain away, or lose their way through the bureaucratic chaos that seemed to prevail in Central 46 and the higher ups. (_That you know of, anyway_) that he knew of anyway, but no, no, no. He knew Gin, whatever he claimed, was not capable of completely isolating himself from loyalty, humanity, guilt _the grinning face of the devil_ flashing in and out with the remnant murmurs of Kyoka Suigetsu _kitsune masks and the snake swallowing the sun_ Gin's odd obsession with all things mythological.

_This one 's Xolotl, Captain, an' that there's Osiris, you know Osiris and Anubis. And this is my favorite one yet, Thanatos an' Hypnos. Do we count as psychopomps, Captain?_

Always that irresistible grin, happy, merry, content, falsely so? Possibly but it was what had first made him notice (_I can use him, we can use him because he) _he is already cold, disillusioned, empty yet still there, somewhere, he could use (_we can use) _someone like him, detached but still attached, dangerous yet not dangerous (_yet dangerous)._ Shut up, Kyoka Suigetsu.

The rumor was that Ichimaru Gin could no longer use his zanpakuto.

Dozens of arrancar were dead from kido in the hallways.

He hadn't been in contact with Shinso ever since… It really wasn't his fault and he didn't nearly get enough of the recognition he deserved, summoning bankai from an unwilling, absent zanpakuto. Sometimes he missed the cooperation, not that Kamishini no Yari wasn't company enough, only he missed that which he used to be and detested that which he was. Running around in a kitsune mask, standing ground with the bloody awful spear, literally bloody.

"The labyrinth 's quiet t'night." He missed the screeching harpies and furies, the quiet wail of sirens, the heart-eating monster and sweet adorable Cerberus _Rangiku would have loved the heart wrenchingly cute puppy_. Though there was one foul beast that never left the confines of the dark maze. " 's th' Minotaur in t'night?"

And harsh winds blowing through improbably, clearing the maze of all intruding walls, transforming it into a single dark hallway, leading to the faceless, heartless, empty shadow, clutching a glittering spear, soaked in crimson.

The shadow twitched and seemed to grin. "I wish you would address me as Shinso, or at the very least, Kamishini no Yari."

"I wan' t' talk t' Shinso."

"Well, good luck finding him."

"I was hoping you'd tell me where t'."

"Why me? I'm just a guest, remember? It's your world. You find him."

"I don' know where he 's. 'Sn't he your other half o' something? Can't you – I dunno – sense him?"

"Shouldn't you? I mean, aren't you so proud that you pulled me out of nowhere? Even Sosuke-san can't do that. Hell, even Mr. Achieve Bankai in Three Days couldn't do that."

"Misters, now. Kurosaki pulled a similar trick."

"Seriously? You have to keep me informed, Gin. How else do I offer you sage advice?"

"You can start by tellin' me where Shinso's been hiding out."

"Hmm. Don't even know if he's still bothering to hang out in your depressing little world. Maybe he died. Maybe he went home…"

"Home?"

"Hmmm… Do a little soul searching, Gin, maybe you'll find your long lost zanpakuto then."

Stark was wondering, on the rare occasion he bothered to wonder, whose side Tousen Kaname was on.

And the voice of the other man.

_You need no longer be lonely, Stark_.

_Come on, Stark-san, you're my best friend, right? My best friend in the whole wide world._

Innocence does not exist in the real world, does it, Lilynette?

If Tousen was with _no longer be lonely_, then he would be _my best friend in the whole wide world_, balance out the numbers, no? Balance… Damn, it was like choosing a method to die. A definite end that becomes useless and obsolete or an ambiguous anxiety that was death on a whim. Mmm… Where was Lilynette? Wouldn't it be so wonderful, a blissful, happy existence, with people who love and are loved, cleanly, innocently, not _You need no longer be lonely, Stark _or _ Come on, Stark-san, you're my best friend right?_ Painful, so painful, yet it was company, only, if only innocence existed.

_Wonderful things and she must see them too. Purity abhors the impure and black does not wash from white though black would easily stain white and colors beyond, oh she must see them to._

If only innocence existed.

But in a world where it did not, Stark wondered which side Tousen Kaname was on. And he wondered what his answer would be to that other man.


End file.
